The Coven
by Ironsoul45
Summary: Three Warlocks from all across Azeroth gather together. All of them with different motivations, varying levels of knowledge, and a willingness to learn even more of the dark arts. ((One-Shot))


The Coven

An undead woman can be seen walking through the plaguelands of fallen Lordaeron. Her black cloak flowing softly behind her as a wind carrying the putrid air of the land flows past her. 'Cold wind tonight,' she thinks to herself, merely guessing at the temperature because of her undead state. She walks across the ruined paved road, the stones having become ruined with age and disrepair. Perhaps the Argent Crusade can cleanse it. But the land itself shall always hold the memories of what happened to it, only so few years ago.

She walks upon a hill, stepping upon the dead grass with her leather boots. At the very top of the hill, is a dead tree. Walking up to it, she kneels down before it and lays her hand on it's trunk. Two old names are carved into it with a heart surrounding them. "How romantically cheesy and unoriginal," she says as her clawed finger scraps away at the bark above the symbol of an old love, probably lost and damned forever.

"Daenith." A gruff voice says to her, which she does not visibly acknowledge. "You called for me, Witch. What do you wish of me?" The voice says, obviously annoyed. The woman rolls her pale eyes then gets up from her scrapings, getting up and staring at her guest. A worgen, with dark grey fur covering his body. Braided hairs go down from the sides of his head. Worn robes of nobility hang off his frame, almost like a great coat of a long past war. His long lupine snout has a burn scar on the surface of it where fur is no longer growing.

"Ashton. A pleasure to see you after all these years. You look as youthful as ever." The Worgen growls angrily at her sarcasm. "If I wanted to come for petty insults, I would've brought my sister. Now why did you ask me to come here woman!" He says loudly, barring his sharpened teeth. The undead elf merely blinks boredly in response. "Calm yourself Ashton, it is unbecoming of you." She turns backs and kneels before the tree again, scraping once again at the bark with her sharpened claws. "We are waiting for someone else to arrive."

"Who?" He asks, only to discover the answer the moment right after he does. A loud belch echoes toward them, obviously directly from the gut.

"Who in de hell wanted me tah come all dha way out 'ere into Corpse Country?!" The loud shouting of an obviously annoyed man comes toward them. Coming up onto the top of the hill, a dwarf appears with his Succubus familiar at his side. He is wearing black robes, dwarven made and magic runes sewn into the cloth. The succubus to his side however, is rather odd looking. Wearing a sort of conservative looking business suit and glasses worn on her bored looking face. In her hands is a pen and clipboard, where she can be seen writing into it quickly. And all with a bored look on her face.

"Oh by the Twisting Nether, not this fool! Really?! Him?!" Daenith gets up once again from her tree scraping and goes up to the dwarf, ignoring the angry Worgen.

"Duran. A pleasure to finally meet you." Daenith extends her hand, which the Dwarf takes after a moment of staring at her. "I'm a fan of the way you work. Ruthless but with a heart of gold. Respectable."

"And who ye be, Corpse?" He says, taking his hand away then wiping it on his robes.

"She is Daenith Dawnweaver, of House Dawnweaver." The Worgen says, letting out a low growl. "A Magister of Quel'Thelas. Or atleast used to be considering she's an undead."

"Formerly. But then I came back. The Forsaken freed me, thankfully." The undead magister folds her arms together and smiles slightly. "You both must be wondering why you are here? Well then, allow me to show you," she pulls one hand free, opening the pale and charred palm. With a single thought, an orb of green fire appears in her hand. "I have studied for years the arts of the Warlock. When the arcane failed me, the Fel has served me far better than what I learned as a Mage." She looks at the two, gauging their interests. Ashton was paying attention, even if there was a look of annoyance on his face. Duran rubs his thick beard with mild interest, while his Succubus familiar continues her bored writing. "But, not everyone is as accepting of my talents as others. Despite the growing acceptance in Silvermoon, there is still an aura of fear and taboo within my homeland for the use of the darker arts of magic. I invited you here, because I know you feel the same." Ashton and Duran look at each other then back at the Undead.

"And what if we do?" Ashton says, his voice dripping with venom.

"Then I shall ask you both to join me." She twirls the flame in her hand, playing with the fel tainted flame like a toy then brings it to her face, illuminating it with an eerie green light. "My speciality is subjugating and binding demons to my will, using there power to add onto my own." She waves her other hand, the fel magic being weaved in between her fingers and from a break in reality, a small winged imp comes stepping out. It's horns high above its head and the chittering of its demonic language spewing out of its mouth. "Because of this, I have been called many things back home. A traitor. A servant of Kael'thas and the Burning Legion. Of wishing the downfall into depravity of my people. All of them, only lies. I seek to use our enemy's power against them. To use the darker arts for the greater good of all life on Azeroth. To bind their servants to my service and make them fight amongst themselves. This is why I fell into the dark arts," she looks over at the tall Worgen then the short Dwarf. "But what of you two? Why do you both do the things you do?" Ashton steps back slightly then straightens himself out, putting his furred claw onto his chest and answering haughtily.

"The Alliance has many enemies, Undead. Your kind included. While many within it believe in 'constraint' and not stooping to the levels our our enemies, our enemies will not share the same thoughts. If I must be damned in order to make sure our enemies know we are not afraid of what they have, then so be it." Daenith chuckles slightly at his response.

"Oh, please Ashton. I know you better than that. Alliance patriotism is quite unlike you, Gilnean. You were after all, in support of segregating your homeland away from the rest of the world." The Worgen growls lowly, before taking it back.

"Fine. I have enemies, Undead. Enemies who would enjoy seeing both my and my families heads mounted on pikes. The destructive powers of the fel is enough to keep them at bay. I would sell my soul and more, if it means my enemies fear me," the Worgen says, without a shred of otherwise regretting his decision.

The Dwarf pulls out a long pipe, then lights his finger with fel fire and ignites the contents of it with. "Aye, a fine tale there Wolfy, almost believed it meself." he says to Ashton as he puts the pipe to his lips and inhales the contents, exhaling through his mouth. The Worgen responds with an annoyed growl. "Keep ya bloody growlin' ta yourself, Ashy. I've been workin' among dhe Dark Irons! And they like to spin tales to whatever they be tryin ta get whateva Bill dhey want passed." Daenith tilts her head at the Dark Iron Dwarf, questioningly.

"And why do you do what you do, Dwarf?" Daenith says, holding her free hand out and gesturing towards him.

"Aye. I be a Warlock. Not much point in denyin' it, is there?" The Dwarf sits down, holding the pipe in his mouth. "But when you be workin' among the higha ups within Shadowforge, you gotta make sacrifices. They always lookin fhur ya to muck up somewhere. Watchin ya words, ya movements even. I took up the dark arts so I can take out mah own enemies and make sure I don't get thrown into the Stocks. I took it up so I can make sure my people can live a comfy life and not have tah deal with all the political shiet that really runs the Dark Iron." He exhales again, this time making smoke rings.

"Interesting. You have my respect Dwarf. But, I'm assuming your people wouldn't look to highly upon a Warlock being a fairly powerful politician in their government, would they not?" She asks him, Duran responding with a slow shake of his head. "Indeed, they wouldn't. We are all in similar situations and we know it." Daenith forms an orb of fel flame within her hand and puts it into the middle of them. "Which is why we need to band together. We must look out for each other. We must also find those who would misuse these dark secrets we carry, using what they abuse against them. We must prove to -all- of our peoples, that we are not monsters. We walk a dark path, not because we want too. But because we have too. Because without us, we would know nothing of the enemies against us." She looks at her fellow Warlocks, then brightens the green fire in her hand. "If you agree with me, add your own power to this flame. Doing so, will be the pact that binds us together." The other two Warlocks look at her for a moment, only for Duran to get up and walk towards her.

"Aye. Might as well get some help from people on dhe outside, yeah?" He puts his hand forward and shadow tendrils add themselves to the green fire, making the flame now burn both green and black. The Undead and Dwarf look over at the Worgen, who can be seen with his arms folded together.

"I need no help." He says defiantly.

"Ashton," Daenith says flatly. "Shut the fel up and come here, then add your flame into our pact." The Worgen growls at being commanded then lets out a groan, walking over and igniting a bright orange flame in his hand.

"I'm doing this because I want to, not for you." He tosses his own fire into the fel fire, adding the color orange to the mix.

"The pact is sealed.." Daenith says. She stamps her staff on the ground, causing the flame to enter into the dark crystal at the very top of it. "And the Coven is formed." The Undead Warlock says, a smile coming to her cracked lips.


End file.
